


The Lesser of Two Evils

by unpopularmyth (Chrysander)



Series: A Discourse for Lilies [3]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Grooming, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 10:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20890256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrysander/pseuds/unpopularmyth
Summary: (A What-If Story)Instead of stabbing Arkham and leaving him to die, Vergil reveals his true motivations. Their partnership continues when Arkham decides he would help Vergil deal with Mundus, whatever fate that may bring to the both of them. Though nothing works out as planned, Vergil is not alone in hell. Will this prove to be advantageous for him? Or is Fate just dealing him the lesser of two evils?[A spin-off of Seduced by Evil. Read that first if you haven't already.]





	The Lesser of Two Evils

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to [Used to the Darkness by des rocs] [Tweet for this post](https://twitter.com/unpopularmyth/status/1180040967342170113)

“Does that woman really bother you?” The soft, disgruntled gasp that came from Arkham stoked was met with the cold indifference of the boy’s facade. 

“What are you talking about?” Arkham’s tone indignant maybe even offended at the tone in which Vergil asked his question.

“Why didn’t you kill her?” Vergil chided, stark still in his spot, tension radiating off of him. “Perhaps because she’s your daughter,” Hard-pressed to keep his tone cold and detached, yet Arkham could hear something violent bubbling beneath the surface. “Did some pesky fatherly love get in the way?” The bite in his tone as sharp as Yamato.

Arkham took a step forward, stopping when he noticed the twitch of the boy’s hand. He could decide to continue, he knows if he does so, the boy will try to stab him. He’s unsure if he could deter the boy this time if he does become violent. Something is wrong.

If he closes the distance, if the boy does stab him, it would open up an opportunity to catch Vergil off guard later. Unaware as the boy is to the nature of the dark energies entwined in his heart, a reward from his work with black magic. Something stills Arkham there, however.

If he lets the boy choose this path, he’d be lost to him forever. A cherished little prize burned in a fire of cold conviction.

Though either path fits his needs, Arkham chooses to venture no further. Instead, he will extend an olive branch to the boy, try to beseech him before this threat of violence takes fruit. “Nothing so simple,” He admits, squaring his shoulders, “Her bloodline may be crucial to breaking the spell, should we run into complications.”

“Complications?” Vergil glanced over his shoulder just enough to settle his icy glare on him, his tone even tenser. No doubt angry that Arkham may have withheld some vital piece of information.

Arkham opens his palms as he comes closer, “I was unsure it was necessary,” He lies easily, “a brief line of text I ran across that mentioned blood of a priestess.”

“And you did not think to tell me?” Vergil growls, his hand is on Yamato now. There is a pause as if he’s had an epiphany, “Was this part of your plan?”

Arkham stills, but only for a microsecond before recovering. All was not lost, he just needed to tread more carefully, “As with all spells in ancient texts, the details of its creation were ambiguous at best. The text calls for a ‘measure of Sparda’s power, a key split into two, and finally, the blood of a local priestess’.”

“How long have you planned this?!” Vergil is close to snapping, he could feel the tang of power on the air.

“I have been researching the topic in fancy since I was your age,” Diverting his answer once more, only for Vergil to turn toward him in a flash of steel. He backs up sharply, hands up now, holding the book toward him. “Read for yourself.”

“Answer me,” The boy’s tone is commanding, final.

“Since I saw you,” He finally answers. The ice in the boy’s eyes is as unforgiving as a blizzard, so cold it burns. “Since you shared with me your desires for your father’s power. The legend of the Temen-ni-gru came to mind, and I was inspired. Excited to share a legend made real with the very blood of Sparda.”

“Cut the bullshit, Arkham.” Sometimes he forgets, with how well-spoken the boy is, how young he was. As much as he wants to smile at the fire of this youth, he refrains.

Instead, his eyes narrow and darken themselves.

“When you do the same, Vergil.” They stare at each other for a moment so long that he thought perhaps Vergil would actually stab him. Instead, the boy shakes his head, “A man like you? Wouldn’t understand.”

“You would be surprised by what I understand, boy.” Taking on the tone of the adult in the room, since the boy’s stubbornness prevails. He knows speaking to Vergil in such a tone will just stoke the fires, dangerous though he may be, now was the time to put his foot down. Patience and consistency with youth can only go so far before they must be put in their place.

Several heartbeats pass.

“I need to kill Mundus,” The boy admits stepping forward, the steel of the blade grazing Arkham’s throat, “I will not be denied my vengeance.”

Arkham is surprised, but then everything falls into place, “I see.”

“Your attainment of power is incomplete,” Vergil states, “I don’t doubt your intentions will only get in my way from this point on.”

Perhaps Vergil is right, after all, he had planned to steal Sparda’s power right from under the boy’s nose. But this new piece of information changes things if anything it places the boy more firmly in his grasp.

If he plays this right.

So he gives an honest smile, chuckling darkly as he mulls over his next words carefully, “It is incomplete, yes. But my words ring no less true.” Boldly he reached out, taking the blade of the Yamato in his palm and gently slipping his hand down its length as he stepped forward. Even as it dug into his flesh, even as his blood ran down its length, down his wrist, he did not flinch. He kept his gaze on those silver eyes. Echoing their first meeting.

“I am here to see your desires come to pass.”

Vergil’s expression wavered ever so slightly, the promise of violence faltering. The seconds ticked away as the boy ruminated over what to do next, till finally, he lowered the Yamato. “Why?”

Arkham chuckles again, confidently closing the distance between them, pressing the tome to Vergil’s chest. Instinctual, the boy held against him with the arm that still held the scabbard. When he tries to cup Vergil’s face the boy shakes him off, forcing him to repeat the gesture, this time with two hands. Though it earned a growl from him, Arkham did not let the boy escape him, leaning close enough for Vergil to hesitate.

“Reverence, my boy.” Reiterating the half-truth, reinforcing it as if it was a pure motive. The intense glare from those silver eyes belied the boy’s loathing for him, yet there was also a small spark of lust that he had grown so fond of over their year together.

Smiling when he saw the spark, Arkham met the desire in the boy by doing something the boy wouldn’t expect. Stealing a kiss from the boy’s lips, the reaction was instant. Repulsion, anger, a small gasp of shock were all expressed as Vergil tried to pull away. Arkham did not let him, keeping him there as he moved on from chastity. Quickly stepping up the intensity of the kiss, tasting the remnants of his earlier release on the boy’s tongue, old parchment, and rosemary. It pleased him to no end to know that the boy tasted him constantly.

Vergil growled again, struggling to push him off, he had to hold onto the back of the boy’s head. His other hand swiftly grasping onto the boy’s wrist to prevent him from stabbing him with that sword. Even as the boy tried to bite him, he had deftly moved his tongue back to save himself from the boy’s ire. Once again he had let some of his true strength be known, the boy knew of its origin, after all, there was no need anymore to hide it.

With one hand on the boy’s wrist, the other wrapped around him, aligned along his back so that Arkham could pull the boy’s body against him while also maintaining the firm grip on the back of his neck to prevent him from breaking the kiss. He kept up his efforts until the boy’s lips would be close to bruising, ignoring the blood that escaped from when the boy bit his bottom lip. Only letting the boy breathe when one of his growls sounded more like a needy moan.

The boy gasped, turning his head away, so Arkham took to abusing the boy’s neck, pulling another moaning growl from him, “I hate you.”

“Yet you yearn,” Arkham pointed out, finally letting go of Vergil’s wrist to slip his hand beneath the boy’s pants, earning another of the boy’s conflicting exasperations. The glint of steel was the only warning he got before Vergil attempted to stab him with that blade, he could feel the steel slice into his side, but his quick reflex had stopped it from doing further damage. His own patience was waning, it seemed the boy needed a stronger hand if he was going to make him heel again. In a quick motion, he had knocked Vergil off of his feet, allowing himself to fall with the boy as they crashed into the floor in a tousle of limbs.

They struggled until he was able to pin the boy’s arm down with their combined weight, surely the boy would have been able to throw him off even considering the twins fight and their tryst that followed. If he wanted to; and that was the key here. That the boy hadn’t; his pathetic, half-hearted struggles spoke louder than his curses and demands to desist. No doubt the boy knew this on some level; no doubt part of his frustration was that very unspoken desire.

“Enough!” Arkham shouted down at the boy, commanding for once in his own tone. Sometimes youth needed to be reproached with a firm hand. Vergil gave him pause, sneering up at him. It was good that he wasn’t as hot-headed as his brother, Arkham noted, or he would have rebelled simply for its sake. No, Vergil was more mature than that.

“Get. Off.” He growls.

Arkham does not listen to the boy, “You will listen, Vergil. If you hope to succeed in your vengeance.”

“I don’t need you,” This earns a chuckle from Arkham, though his patience wanes, he knows this would be the boy’s last show of true defiance. If he could steer the boy deftly enough, back in line, there is little chance for this tiresome rebellion to happen again. Patience.

“Perhaps you did not, but would you have come this far without my aid?” Cupping Vergil’s face again, his thumb gently trails across the boy’s lips. Vergil looked away from him, trying to pull his trapped hand free. Arkham rested his other hand gently on the boy’s bicep, “There is no shame in using all avenues to accomplish your goals, boy. Steer that fire to your destination, not to those that aid your way. Calm your pride.”

There it was, the right words to say, the boy stills turning his gaze back to him. Gripping onto the wrist of the hand touching his face, pulling it away from him, “Quit touching me.”

Oh how the boy would regret those words later, Arkham knew.

“As you wish,” He stood then, no longer worried that the boy would try to kill him. Retrieving his tome from the floor, he held out his hand to offer the boy aid to stand. “We must prepare, our guests will arrive shortly.”

The boy did not take his hand. Perhaps he didn’t trust himself, or he didn’t trust Arkham. Whatever the reason, Arkham let it be, for now.

Though he clung so tightly to his denial, the boy was his.

* * *

“So this is it,” Vergil murmured, his gaze taking in the horrific visages depicted on the ceiling. The terrifying gargoyles in the image of various demons.

Arkham was buzzing with excitement, “So it is.”

As they moved towards the pedestal in the ground, the door behind them burst open again. Spotting Beowulf, Arkham backed up, allowing Vergil room to work. The beast must have run into Dante, it rambled on about revenge. Vergil regarded the beast with little amusement, though he said nothing, did nothing until it tried to swipe at him.

The boy’s movements were as fluid and deadly as ever. In a blink of an eye, the boy had drawn Yamato, and if Arkham was anything more human, he was sure he wouldn’t have even caught the deftness of the boy’s slashes through the Demon’s face. In a cocky little show, the boy flipped and landed on top of the demon, slowly sheathing Yamato as the demon’s face split into pieces. Blood gushed out of where its head had once been, Vergil jumped back onto the more solid ground before its body began to slump.

As the demon’s soul manifested, Vergil took it. In a charming display that could only be akin to a cat playing with its conquest, Arkham watched Vergil kick its corpse up, slice through it, and kick the remains out of the way.

It was as breathtaking as always whenever he displayed such feats of skill. Though when Arkham went to open his mouth to express wonderment at the sight, Vergil pointed in his direction, “Don’t.”

Arkham says nothing, but he smiles at the boy. With that little interruption out of the way, they returned their attention to the center of the room. “You must join the amulets, then make your blood offering.” He instructed as they moved to stand before the pedestal sunk into the platform, Vergil did as he was instructed. The jewels resonated together before lifting into the air, interlocking above the pedestal before sinking down into the center of it. With that done, he knelt down and unsheathed Yamato, sliding his hand down the blade’s length, the only sign of pain was a twitch of the boy’s brow and the effort of trying to hold back a sneer. He likely thought it would have gone unnoticed, it did not.

Arkham’s gaze wanders from the boy’s face, down his neck, down his body in a slow deliberate manner that was sure to be noticed in the boy’s peripheral view. Settling on his waist, where he could see the hint of the boy’s boner behind his trousers. Of course his attention, his unspoken praise still has an effect on the boy, he’d trained the boy oh so carefully. Even if Vergil was trying to deny it, his body yearned to be touched.

How very human.

The sight tickles him, but he makes no comment on it. Vergil held his hand out, letting it bleed freely into the mechanism. They waited. Arkham knew they were missing the last piece, Mary’s blood. He was not surprised that nothing happened, though he could feel the annoyance radiating from the boy. Squaring his shoulders, he gives a sigh, “Then that is that. Should I check on her progress?”

Vergil said nothing as he stood, sheathing Yamato before holding it out in front of him, hands rested on the top of her hilt. His eyes were closed, it seems he decided to ignore Arkham. Very well. Arkham left him to his seething.

* * *

When the gun went off he was gone once more, lingering behind his daughter, looking over his shoulder as she frantically tried to locate him. As if sensing him (good girl) she twisted around, nearly shooting him in the head if he hadn’t moved again. Holding her wrist so that the shot went up, she tried to fire the other gun, he had done the same to that hand.

“Really, Mary. Stop this childishness,” Taking a curt tone with her that only enraged her.

“I will never stop! Not until you are dead!” She kicked him back, and he had to jump away as one of her hands slipped from his grip. Dodging her shots again, he sighs, growing tired of this.

“You cast your judgment without knowing the truth of your mother’s death?” The statement confused her, no doubt, but what curiosity she may have was clouded by rage.

“What is there to know?! You killed her!” There they began a careful dance of movement as he dodged and deflected her, “Because you wanted to become the devil! For that, you killed innocents, too! You’re the vilest kind of creature!”

“Very well,” He remarks coldly, “Since you are so set on your path, remain diligent, my daughter.” She fired at him again, and this time he slipped out of sight, retreating through the door she needed to continue on. Guiding her like this was tiresome, but so long as she remained set on killing him, it would have to do.

* * *

Guiding Dante was far easier, if not more humiliating. The boy may despise the persona that was Jester, but it wasn’t so much that he wasn’t willing to listen. After painting in the boy’s mind the tunnel to hell, playing with the boy’s sensibilities with erogenous dialog, he left the fiery twin.

The hotheadedness of Dante was such a contrast to Vergil, it was refreshing in some ways. But he doubted he would have ever had the same opportunity to groom the younger twin. He was far too rebellious, far too individualistic, too confident and comfortable in his own fallacies. Even if his failures and shortcomings were met with frustration, they were never met with doubt.

Could Dante have proved more of a challenge?

It was an interesting thought, and perhaps he would have been. But it wouldn’t have been as fun as the slow, methodical, careful game of grooming the prideful older brother.

It wouldn’t have been as delectable.

* * *

Arkham stayed in hiding, watching the twins as they fought, his daughter joined them, demanding to know where he was. Vergil’s patience was waning, and the short altercation he had with Mary left him open. Notably, Dante hadn’t injured him with his back turned, though he could have easily done so. Landing two good blows on each other each, the twins looked close to collapse. With the amount of blood they had spilled since their altercation began, it was no wonder.

When he entered, Mary turned her big gun on him immediately, forcing him to subdue her quickly. Slamming her harshly to the ground, enough that she would be dazed but not unconscious. Taking her gun, his gaze shifted to the brother, then to Vergil. Those silver eyes watched him intently with that look of when he was being critical when he was ready to judge but at the same time paying careful attention. Was he afraid that if he were to look away he’d miss out on some lesson?

Holding the boy’s gaze, he turned the gun around and drove the bayonet into his daughter’s thigh. “Good girl, so sweet, pure, and innocent,” He murmured, “Sparda sacrificed two things to hold at bay the tremendous force of this tower. His own power, and the blood of a mortal priestess. Your ancestor, my dear daughter. The final key that flows through your veins will undo Sparda’s work. Allowing us to finally descend into the demon world. I am proud you’ve made it this far,” his gaze finally breaking from the boy’s, turning to look down at her.

Yanking the bayonet out of her leg, “Sadly, this is as far as you go,” He knew his tone was ambiguous, cold and calculative. Making it sound like he was willing to kill her, and he certainly wouldn’t have bat an eye at the notion now that he’d made it this far. Perhaps that tone was what spurred the younger twin to pull his guns on him. He could have moved out of the way in time, but it turns out he didn’t need to as Vergil diverted the shots. There the twins tousled before parting again, panting like dogs.

“Arkham,” Vergil growled impatiently at him, desperately trying to control his breathing. Again, Arkham was tempted toward betrayal. Vergil was in a particularly vulnerable position, so tired and weakened he was from this second fight with his twin.

It would be so easy.

Patience.

“There is no more need for them to stay for what comes next, wouldn’t you agree?” Arkham smiles, it was then that the gun was kicked out of his hand. Mary had swiftly straightened herself as she tumbled to standing, pointing the bayonet at him, at the same time Dante had recovered enough to turn his gun on him, his blade locking with Vergil’s.

“And I thought my family was terrible,” Dante remarked, his gaze on Vergil even as his gun remained pointed at him, “But damn, Lady, does your pops sure take the creepiest ass cake. Seriously bro, what do you see in this guy?”

Even as Vergil growled and sneered at his brother, Arkham could not help but chuckle, “Your brother recognizes that the ends, no matter how great the cost, justifies the means.”

“Bullshit,” Mary and Dante spoke in unison. It was charming if juvenile.

“When I’m done kicking both of your asses, I’ll shove your means right down your damn throat,” Dante boasted, his attention squarely on his brother.

“You care that much for humans? Chivalry isn’t a good look on you, Brother.” Vergil’s voice, though Arkham did not look to check, his attention firmly on his daughter.

“Don’t give a damn about all that. You two wrecked my shop; not to mention I’m gonna end up cleaning up your mess for weeks.” There was that boasting tone, but there was something else there that Arkham could not quite name.

Shifting his tone, taking on the same voice he uses for Jester, “Aren’t you forgetting a little trifling bit of detail, Dante? The spell is broken, what do you think will happen next?”

In that moment the platform, the entire tower, began to shake, knocking them all off balance. “You’ve lost,” in a swift motion he crouched, their shots missed him, with a sweep of his legs he tripped Dante and Mary’s feet out from under them. Sweeping his leg into them once more, he launched them off the platform. Somewhere in the struggle, Vergil had fallen backward, sprawled out onto the platform.

Arkham walked to the edge, watched the two recover before turning towards the exhausted boy. The surprise on his face couldn’t be more delicious. Holding out his hand to the boy as the platform rose through the tower, Arkham waited. Sheathing the Yamato and tying her to his belt, Vergil took his hand. When he yanked the boy to his feet he pulled him close so that their bodies were flush.

“Let’s welcome chaos,” not waiting for the boy to catch his breath for more than a moment before stealing it away again in a forceful, hedonistic kiss.

Of course, Vergil growled and struggled against him, but the boy was so tired he could not stop him. Stilling the boy’s hand as he reached for Yamato, grinding his arousal against the boy’s own. When finally he broke the kiss the platform had risen to the top of the tower, having collected the bells on the way. “Arkham!” Vergil was breathless in his rage.

The pedestal behind the boy began to descend into the platform.

“He plucks the threads that make us dance, finger and toe,” Arkham spoke as he forced the boy to dance with him as they’d done in the tower’s library. Ignoring his protests.

“We surrender,” Easily forcing him to step in line by manipulating his tired body,

“in joy,” and though it was an awkward thing, that wasn’t the point of it. The bells around them were picked up by the mechanisms of the tower as Arkham spoke, one by one.

“to the lowest of the foul and rank,” the boy’s discomfort and anger of being treated like a rag-doll was sweet succor.

“We submerge through darkness, rancid filth,” the boy could nothing but react as he dipped him back momentarily,

“Hour by hour,” forced to focus his on the sloppy steps caused by Arkham’s control of the situation,

“we move downward,” lest he falls in a manner more undignified than what was already on display,

“ever closer to hell,” when he was returned to standing, Vergil was spun, his back pressed flush against Arkham,

“in a slow,” Arkham’s free hand roamed over the boy’s body, his face pressed into the side of the boy’s head as he whispered into his ear,

“steady,” His fingers finding home into the boy’s entrance, causing him to stiffen,

“gait.” Arkham knew his body all too well, “Now, let the world resonate,” with such ease he could make the boy’s head spin,

“Sloth,” Vergil’s back arched with his efforts, “Greed,” his feet kicking out, “Gluttony,” Stomping down as they tried to gain purchase, “Wrath,” Struggling against the arm that pinned him, “Envy,” the boy tried to elbow Arkham in the side, “Pride,” Gasping when Arkham found one of his hot spots, abusing it with vigor, “and Lust.”

Vergil’s head fell back, his voice betraying him so wholly and utterly, even as he tried to stifle it, “A-ah!” There it is.

The bells around them begin to ring. “A bell of chaos that tolls human desires,” He whispered into Vergil's ear, biting at the side of his temple, teeth grazing sharply against the boy’s flesh.

“Ah-! Hah-ah-Arkham!” Vergil’s voice finally broke free into the desperate, needy, gasping moan of a whore.

Arkham chuckled at that sweet sound, “Good boy,” He murmured into his ear. Abusing the spot as a reward until he was sure the boy was dizzy from it, then did he remove his fingers.

“After two thousand long years, the once sealed gate to the demonic world will open,” spin the boy again to facing him once more, “Thanks to you.” their bodies flush against one another.

“With it brings destruction,” Cupping the boy’s flushed face, “carnage and despair,” Vergil held onto his wrist. “Entrapping this world in fear, as its very name Temen-ni-gru strikes terror,” His thumb caressing along Vergil’s bottom lip, “into the heart of mankind.” Dipping the boy back, far enough that he was off balance. Reliant on Arkham’s hold on him, lest he falls, “Rending this world into a wasteland, engulfed with pandemonium.”

Vergil hung onto his every word, hushed and breathless, silver gaze full of lust as he clung onto Arkham, “The demonic power Sparda once imprisoned,” enraptured in anticipation and promise.

“Will.” Crashing against the boy’s lips once again,

“Be.” his tongue exploring between words, noting that this time the boy did not try to bite him,

“Yours.” Drinking in another moan from Vergil as it stole its way out of the boy’s mouth; Arkham ruts into him and the boy reciprocates.

Delicious.


End file.
